


of smug grins and small mercies

by BrenH



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Flustered Sakusa Kiyoomi, Getting Together, M/M, MSBY Black Jackals - Freeform, Mentioned Bokuto Koutarou, Mentioned Hinata Shouyou, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrenH/pseuds/BrenH
Summary: There is very little Sakusa Kiyoomi hates more in the world than Atsumu’s smug grin. He can almost hear how Atsumu would whine at him over it, start listing off things he knows Kiyoomi hates in order to prove that his face isn't even near the top of the list. For the sake of not losing an argument to Miya fucking Atsumu, he’d argue it’s place regardless.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 262





	of smug grins and small mercies

**Author's Note:**

> apparently all i'm capable of writing right now is sakuatsu confession fics... this was what the other one was supposed to be but it got away from me so take 2!

There is very little Sakusa Kiyoomi hates more in the world than Atsumu’s smug grin. He can almost _hear_ how Atsumu would whine at him over it, start listing off things he knows Kiyoomi hates in order to prove that his face isn't even near the top of the list. For the sake of not losing an argument to Miya fucking Atsumu, he’d argue it’s place regardless. 

It’s aggravating in countless ways, practically begging for Kiyoomi to say something to wipe it off his face. Normally it’s following, or followed by, some inane comment that is either inaccurate, cocky, specifically engineered to bait Kiyoomi, or all of the above. He hates how it’s rarely _deserved ,_ how Atsumu will make a mountain out of a molehill for his own self-gratification, and whine his way back down to earth. He hates how good it looks on him, how distracting it is, how well it works in getting Kiyoomi to bite back. He hates how it makes his stomach flip, how for as many times as he’s imagined a comeback that stings enough to knock it off his face he’s imagined kissing it off an equal amount. 

So no, there truly isn’t much he hates more than Miya Atsumu’s smug grin.

It’s worst is in the middle of a match, when he’s doing _well_ and he knows it, knows the other team knows it too. It’s the worst because Kiyoomi almost finds it _comforting_ then, because Atsumu is in the zone and having _fun._ It’s the worst because it’s dangerous, because one time Sakusa messed up his serve so bad it hit the net right next to his stupid fucking face because it was all he could look at. 

He hadn’t heard the end of that one for weeks. 

And it isn’t as if he hates Atsumu, regardless of what the others think sometimes. He’s a good teammate, a solid setter, and they work _well_ together, on and off the court. He thinks he’d be more willing to call him his friend outside the safety of his own mind if he didn’t know Atsumu would grin at him and they’d be back at square one. Because despite their bickering and insults, Kiyoomi does consider Atsumu his friend, is fairly certain the setter feels the same. It’s just not like them to admit that, neither one wanting to give the other the satisfaction of watching them cave first. Their predicament is solidly frustrating, a game of cat and mouse where neither is willing to let the other get a leg up. 

It isn’t that Kiyoomi is blind or stupid, he knows he’s attractive, knows Atsumu thinks it too. He’s said it in enough times, albeit mockingly because Atsumu is, above all, incapable of taking anything besides volleyball seriously. But he refuses to be the one to cave first, to admit to what they both know is mutual attraction. It’s worse because he knows that it isn’t all just a game for Atsumu, that he’s purposefully not saying anything to respect the many boundaries and walls Kiyoomi has set up. It’s worse because it makes his heart clench just as well as it does his jaw. It would be fine if Atsumu’s looks could be offset by his horrendous personality, but then he has to go and be _thoughtful_ and _respectful._ It’s absolutely infuriating. 

They’re supposed to be doing cooldown stretches. Practice had wrapped up but Kiyoomi was still fuming at how distracted he’d been the whole time. Not that anyone would have known by looking at him, but his serve tosses had been off all day, his reactions a fraction of a second slower than normal. He wasn’t even sure why today of all days he’d been feeling off, thought maybe it had to do with Atsumu’s lazy grin as he realized how in the zone _he_ had been today, not that that was anything out of the ordinary. He grit his teeth, leaning further forward, hands sliding along the floor where they were pressed into it. Carefully, he rotated his wrists, folded his hands so the backs were pressed against the ground, applied enough pressure to stretch without risking injury. Even as he glared down at the floor, he could feel Atsumu’s eyes on him. 

“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop ogling my wrists, Miya.” 

There’s a scoff, a quiet shuffle as Atsumu stands up. “But they’re so _weird_ Omi-kun.” Sakusa rolled his eyes at the ground, taking slow, calculated breaths as he heard Atsumu approach. “Need a hand there?”

“No.” Suddenly there’s warmth at his back, Atsumu humming softly as he ignores Kiyoomi in favour of crouching behind him and applying slight pressure to his back, helping him keep the stretch. “Why ask if you’re going to ignore my requests regardless?”

He couldn’t see it, a small mercy, but he could still _hear_ the irritating grin in his voice. “We both know you don’t mind, right Omi?” 

He says nothing, choosing instead to finish his stretches in silence. Atsumu stays, pressing lightly on his back, and Kiyoomi has to clench his jaw as his thumbs dig circles into his shoulders, humming softly to himself the whole time. Atsumu’s hands don’t leave him even as he pushes himself to sit up, pressure relenting until he’s upright. Only then does Atsumu choose to rest his entire weight on Kiyoomi’s shoulders as he leans forward. Kiyoomi sighs roughly, rolling his wrists gently as he tries to ignore the flush on his face, jaw clenched tight. He can see Atsumu’s face from the corner of his eye, smug grin intact as he openly stares.

“Ya know, you’re pretty when you’re mad at me Omi-Omi.”

He huffs “So you’ve said.”

“I mean it,” he chuckles, sliding his arms forward to rest his forearms on Kiyoomi’s shoulders, inching ever closer, “Yer face turns this pretty shade of red, ‘n’ ya get all pouty. It’s adorable.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, moving slightly to test how reliant Atsumu was on his position to stay upright. “And you’re incredibly aggravating.” 

Atsumu gasps, feigning offence as he slides the rest of the way forward, the weight of his front crashing into Kiyoomi’s back as his arms slid all the way forward to hang loosely in front of Kiyoomi, his head landing gently on top of Kiyoomi’s. “That’s _mean_ Omi!” Atsumu tsks. Kiyoomi’s breath catches in his chest, hand dropping to the floor to help him stabilize both his and Atsumu’s weight combined, feeling his face flush bright red as he glares daggers into the ground. He feels Atsumu’s head lift slightly, voice still loud in his ears as he calls across the gym, “Hey Bo, do you think I’m aggravating?”

Bokuto turns from where he had been talking to Meian to look over at them, and Kiyoomi has never wanted to murder Atsumu more than he does right now for putting him in this position. Bokuto opens his mouth to respond, pausing before turning to Meian next to him, probably for clarification on what aggravating even means. After a moment Boluto turns back to them, loudly yelling _no_ across the gym and giving a thumbs up. 

Atsumu tsks again, once more flopping down onto Kiyoomi, eliciting a small grunt as the air was pushed from his already straining lungs. “See Omi? It’s just you who thinks that.”

“I’m sure if I asked your brother he’d agree with me,” Kiyoomi tries to keep his voice even, even as the air was caught in his chest, and not from exertion. “Now will you please get off?” 

“ _Omi-_ kun!” Kiyoomi grits his teeth at Atsumu’s fake, scandalized gasp, “I didn’t know you liked me like _that.”_

Kiyoomi huffs, quickly shifting and moving to stand so that Atsumu has no choice but to stumble and fall on his back with a satisfying _oof._ Kiyoomi glances down his nose to where Atsumu lays on the floor, biting his lip in an obvious attempt not to laugh at Kiyoomi’s reaction. It was always like this with him, how he delighted in pushing Kiyoomi into lashing out in one way or another. Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes at him, and it only made his grin grow. 

The stupid smug grin that Kiyoomi hated, that constantly drove him to seek new ways to wipe it off his face.

“Who said I didn’t?” 

The world seems to freeze for a moment, and Kiyoomi almost wants to kick himself for saying that out loud. But Atsumu’s face glows red, and the grin falls from his face in shock and disbelief, and as he stutters from where he’s lying on the floor, Kiyoomi thinks maybe the admission was almost worth it. They both stay there, frozen for what feels like an eternity but he knows isn’t even more than a second before he turns on his heel, casually walking over to the locker room. He briefly registers laughter, figures the others must have seen Kiyoomi drop Atsumu to the floor, chances a glance to see Bokuto bent in half as he laughs, Hinata standing next to him now, pointing at Atsumu as he laughs along with him. He sees Meian shaking his head in exasperation as he walks away from the duo, hears Atsumu scramble to his feet and yell at them to knock it off just as he rounds the corner and makes his way into the changing room. 

He walks to his locker and just stands there for a moment, trying to get his breathing under control. He only has a few moments to himself, enough for the chill of the empty room to help ease the heat of his cheeks and for his breathing to regulate again, before he hears the door swing open wildly, and then there’s a warm body crashing into his back all over again.

He has the time and sense to turn around as Atsumu shoves him into the locker. It’s not hard, doesn’t hurt, but the chill of the metal is a stark contrast from the heat radiating off the setter. He’s barely taller than Atsumu normally, not even 2 full centimeters in difference, but like this, being forced to lean against the locker to make room for Atsumu’s overwhelming presence, he finds he has to look up at him slightly. His face is still red, hair still slick with sweat that Kiyoomi hadn’t noticed when he had been leaning on him earlier. His breathing is laboured, like he sprinted after Kiyoomi to catch him here, caged between his arms against a locker in their team’s communal locker room. 

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at him, fights to keep the rest of his face neutral as they just stare at each other for a moment, Atsumu’s eyes searching his face for something. Eventually, when his breathing calms down slightly, Atsumu huffs at him and pouts. “That’s cheating, Omi.”

“What is? And how?” 

Atsumu groans, head dropping to stare at the floor for a moment. “Ya can’t just say that and then _leave_.” 

“Why not?” And maybe it’s mean of him, how Kiyoomi can’t fight the smugness in his voice, how he’s choosing to keep teasing Atsumu even now. Maybe it’s a bit vindictive for his usual style, but he thinks Atsumu deserves it.

Atsumu looks up, gapes at him, slack-jawed for a moment. He pulls one hand away from the locker, pointing an accusing finger at Kiyoomi and narrows his eyes, “Yer cruel.” When Kiyoomi just chuckles lightly, the finger pokes into his sternum, making him laugh again as the finger keeps jabbing at him, “What’s so funny, big guy?”

“Will you _stop_ ,” Kiyoomi sighs exasperated, trying to fight the lingering smile as he bats at Atsumu’s finger.

The other man pouts, pulling his hand back just to poke at Kiyoomi’s forehead. “No.”

They stand there for a moment, silently staring each other down. This is, in a way, familiar. Their stupid game, refusing to be the first one to give, but it’s different this time, less sure. Kiyoomi folds his arms over his chest, trying to ignore how there’s barely enough room to manage it, how his arms brush against Atsumu’s chest. They’re so close, sharing the warm air between them, and Kiyoomi shivers under the weight of Atsumu’s stare.

Which is apparently the worst thing to do, because it prompts Atsumu’s mouth to slowly take the shape of that infuriating grin. “If I said I wanted t’ ask ya out, would you hit me with another serve?”

Kiyoomi huffs an exasperated laugh. “That was an _accident,_ let it go!” 

“He’s dodging the question, your honour!”

It’s Kiyoomi’s turn to roll his eyes, jabs his finger into Atsumu’s chest like he’s trying to push him further back when it’s the last thing he wants right now. “ _This_ is what I mean when I say you’re aggravating.” 

Atsumu’s grin is breathtaking, far more genuine than the shiteating smug one that makes Kiyoomi’s stomach flip in equal parts irritation and attraction. This one is genuine, and hopeful in a way that makes Kiyoomi’s head spin when he leans just a bit closer. “Hey, Omi?” It’s all Kiyoomi can do to hum in response, the breath gone from his lungs, because he’s afraid of the noises he’d make if he tried to speak right now. “I wanna take ya out on a date.”

His breath ghosts over his lips, and Kiyoomi realizes he’s been staring at Atsumu’s mouth this whole time, feels his face heat again, even as he relaxes his finger to slide his hand up Atsumu’s sternum to rest on his shoulder. His breath is barely a whisper, all he can manage in the silent room, “Next time I’m up to serve you better watch the back of your head.” 

Atsumu laughs, low and quiet, but presses forward anyway, gently capturing Kiyoomi’s lips in his own. It’s just a quick press of their lips together, far more chaste than the situation might have suggested. When he pulls back slightly, his eyes are twinkling. “That’s fine, so long as you promise to kiss it better afterwards.”

Kiyoomi snorts lightly, both hands coming to twist gently in the collar of Atsumu’s gym shirt before smoothing out the wrinkles. “You always do this, ask me something and then do the opposite.” 

This time his grin is toothy and lazy, eyes half closed. “I like t’ think I’ve gotten pretty good at telling when ya actually want me to stop, and when yer just saying things because ya don’t wanna ask.” Kiyoomi has no choice but to turn his face away, biting his lip slightly at Atsumu’s laugh, because he’s _right_ and they both know it. Atsumu leans forward again, warm breath ghosting over Kiyoomi’s neck as he places another soft kiss on his jaw, murmuring quietly against the skin there, “So, will ya let me, Omi?”

Kiyoomi sighs, gently turning his head back to Atsumu’s to see the grin that’s vexed him for so long plastered on his face. This time though, he doesn’t have to beat his thoughts back with a broom when they turn to the option of kissing it off his face, Atsumu sighing into it as Kiyoomi leans in. 

They both know it’s a yes.


End file.
